Faith had locked it, jammed it, and then curled up in a corner, desperately trying to find some warmth, and starvingly and gratefully gobbling up the last moments of freedom she would ever feel touch her with its peace.
The mind that had kept her a prisoner and fed her lies and more lies over the countless years. When she had escaped, she knew she was only delaying the inevitable. But the inevitable felt so cold, so unwelcoming. And she wished for warmth and comfort.
She had not only escaped from that nightmare called The Tower, but she had also escaped from her mind.
A wish. She had taken the risky liberty of making one wish. The first she had ever pleaded for. But, alas, even the gods above weren’t powerful enough to defeat fate and destiny. No, even the gods had their limits.
The banging and shouting abruptly ceased, and Faith was jolted by the silence. She was getting used to the awful noise and clatter, and the silence tasted so sweet. But her relief was short-lasted, for men rushed in. And their ugly faces doomed her as that sweet turned to sour, relief to dread.
They reached for her and she felt her freedom slip away. Their greedy hands were closing around her when a scream made the air feel like unmerciful death and thieving winter whips. And the hateful men, oh the pity Faith felt, when that dark room turned into a bloodbath.
Then the hidden and mystery figure turned to her, dark cape and clothes soaked with blood and eyes promising the worst kind of pain, and stepped towards her with their gleaming and razor-edge blade in hand. Faith knew she was dead even before that killer raised the blade to murder her.